


green velvet

by Nara_stories



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book 1: Lord John and the Private Matter, Corpse Desecration, Crossdressing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic Description, M/M, MAJOR SPOILERS for Lord John and the Private Matter, Unrequited Love, but not in a particularly sexy context, hiding a dead body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: “Ah, and isn’t love a grand bitch, then?” Diana Gabaldon - Lord John and the Private MatterJack Byrd realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for his master.orThe gory Jack Byrd & Joseph Trevelyan story absolutely no one ever asked for.Fills my "Crossdressing" square for the Outlander Bingo 2020.
Relationships: Jack Byrd & Joseph Trevelyan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	green velvet

It was remarkably hard to crush a man’s face beyond recognition. His first hit with the shovel, while not tentative, achieved exactly nothing. Not even a bruise bloomed in the wake of it. Which was logical, since Reinhardt Mayrhofer was dead, Jack Byrd reminded himself. He lifted the shovel again, higher this time and brought it down harder, managing to break the man’s nose with an audible crunch.

The slight burst of satisfaction faded quickly when it sunk in just what he was doing. Desecrating a body by beating it up in order to cover up a murder. This was wrong. He looked up at Mr. Joseph.

The carriage house was dark, the only light source being a lantern they hung up by the door. The yellow light cast deep shadows on Joseph Trevelyan’s familiar face. A face Jack saw almost every day for the past ten years. He knew the curve of the mouth, the slope of the nose as intimately as if he had the chance to caress them with his fingers. He took many stolen glances at the man over the years and alone at night he was able to assemble it all into a perfect image so that he would see him even behind his closed eyelids. That man, in his dreams, however, would let him stare at him openly, let him brush a thumb across his cheek and let him touch his lips with his own. The real Joseph Trevelyan would never let him do that.

He struck Mayrhofer’s face again, the force of it punching a frustrated grunt out of him. What did he care about right and wrong at this point? They said loving a man, craving his touch as he did was also wrong. Yet, when he thought about it, Jack felt no remorse. If he thought it would be welcomed, he would have long ago offered himself up to Mr. Joseph with no regards to his own tender feelings and with no hope for reciprocation. He would have become his whore without a second thought and that was also said to be wrong.

He hadn’t because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Joseph was not moved by male beauty and he only had eyes for Maria Mayrhofer since they’ve met about a year ago. The same woman, who just shot her husband, and Jack couldn’t even blame her for it. Reinhardt Mayrhofer was a disgusting pig and a child murderer. No, Jack couldn’t blame her, not for shooting the bastard and even less for spreading her legs for Mr. Joseph while being married to another man.

He put all his anguish and jealousy behind the next blow and it broke the greyish skin on the bridge of the corpse’s nose, dark, thickened blood slowly oozing out. He hit the same spot again, squishing the bone like he would a cockroach with the heel of his boot. He stopped, panting, the muscles in his arms and chest aching and Mr. Joseph took the shovel from him.

He had his shirtsleeves rolled up and Jack watched the cord of muscle flex beneath his skin covered with fine brown hair, the same shade as the hair on his head. He wore his hair short to make wearing a wig easier, but now it was unusually messy from him running worried fingers through them earlier.

Joseph Trevelyan wasn’t a big man and he normally hid his physical strength well under all that finery. Jack watched his shoulders strain under his shirt now and his mouth went dry. He would let Mr. Joseph hold him down and take him without a word of protest, anywhere, any time, he thought, inappropriate lust punching him in the gut. Sometimes he wanted it so badly, he feared he would go mad, but now his desire simmered out slowly. Who needed the intimacy of flesh when they had this binding them together now?

It was a terrible thought and when Mr. Joseph stopped, Jack took the shovel from him without a word. He curled his palm around the patch of warm wood left behind by the hand of his master and continued with increased ferocity. Who else would stand here with Mr. Joseph and do this dark deed? Who could he trust not to tell anyone? And Jack knew Mr. Joseph trusted him. He had proven his loyalty many times, even while spying for the crown, he always told everything to him first, and whenever the man acknowledged his loyalty or displayed his trust it made warmth bloom in Jack’s chest, each time burying itself a little deeper.

The back of the shovel was smeared with dark blood now, Jack watched it while he leaned on his knees and caught his breath. Mr. Joseph brought the shovel down hard over the mouth and the corpse’s slack lips burst open like ripe fruit. A few more blows loosened the front teeth and left a manic, uneven grin behind.

No one bothered to close Mayrhofer’s eyes and Jack stared back at the lifeless orbs as he took the shovel from Mr. Joseph again. Trevelyan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and Jack saw it shaking slightly. His voice, however, was even.  
“That’s it. Just a bit more.”

Jack complied, hitting the mass of flesh again, without any definite target now. Each time the shovel connected with the flesh it caused a horrible squelching sound. On a particularly hard blow, the left eye popped right out of its socket, lolling down onto what bloody mess remained of the man’s cheek. Jack had to stop and swallow back the bile suddenly rising in his throat, even while he was unable to look away.

He felt a strong, warm hand on his shoulder.  
“That will be enough, Jack.” He closed his eyes and nodded, then finally looked up. Mr. Joseph was a bit pale too, but he squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and Jack nodded again just to show him he was ready to continue with whatever must be done.

Trevelyan took his hand away and looked at the body. He ran a hand through his hair again.  
“What can we do about the dress?”

Jack looked down again. It was the same green velvet gown Mr. Joseph used as a disguise when meeting with his lover. Jack looked at the faceless corpse and suddenly had the most disturbing image of Mr. Joseph lying there instead. He swallowed hard and willed the thought to go away. The man was standing next to him alive, body radiating warmth and the only way he would imagine that dress on him was exactly the way he looked every time when Jack escorted him from the brothel to Lavender House.

It was an ingenious disguise and an idea that could only come from a man, who wasn’t only devilishly clever, but who had absolutely no hidden, shameful curiosity about what it would feel like to dress as a woman or to be touched like one. Jack, on the other hand, had almost swallowed his own tongue when he first saw Mr. Joseph in that dress. It was tight on his arms and loose on his chest, leaving the smooth skin of his neck and the dimples of his collarbones exposed. Jack stared at the delicate white lace cuffs contrasting with his powerfully masculine hands. He wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face into the soft folds of the emerald velvet, searching out the hard angles of the body underneath. 

The madam painted Mr. Joseph’s face just like it would be painted for a molly or for a whore and Jack couldn’t stop thinking about how the paint would look smudged in the heat of passion. He wanted to smear the crimson on his lips with a thumb and bring tears of pleasure into his eyes just to see the kohl run down his cheeks in dark lines.

“Should we throw him into the canal, do you think?” Trevelyan’s voice snapped Jack back to the grim present moment.  
Jack shook his head.  
“No, sir, I don’t think it would discourage either the constables or the morgue keeper from undressing the body. Clothes must be especially torn or filthy for not to be sold again.”

Mr. Joseph scratched his chin, prickling with stubble.  
“We can’t tear the dress apart. It kind of defeats the point if his prick hangs out,” he added with a wry smile, and even in this situation, Jack couldn’t help huffing out a quiet laugh. 

They concluded that it would be best if they could disguise three facts, in that order of priority: that the corpse belonged to Reinhardt Mayrhofer, that he’s been shot and that he was a man. With each of these facts concealed they would reduce the chance of someone investigating the issue and of anyone ever finding out what really happened.

“Shame, I thought there would be more blood,” Mr. Joseph mused. “I mean, I know dead men generally don’t bleed, but with so much…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the remains of the face.

Something he said jolted Jack’s mental processes and he suddenly had an idea.  
“I know, sir! There’s a butcher’s yard a few corners away, I can go fetch some pig’s blood. No one will know the blood doesn’t belong to the cove.”

Trevelyan’s eyes lit up.  
“Smart fellow!” he said with emphasis. The praise made a rush of fierce heat run down Jack’s spine and settle at the pit of his stomach. He turned away so that it wouldn’t show on his face. 

By the time he got back with the bucket of pig’s blood, Mr. Joseph had wrapped the body up in a canvas and readied the coach. It was past midnight and Jack drove the coach through the dark streets of London to St. James’s Park. They hobbled the horses and carried the body a little way into the park together, Mr. Joseph holding it under the armpits and Jack by the feet.

They dumped it under a bush and Jack went back for the blood, stumbling slightly in the dark. He stopped next to the corpse and hesitated with the bucket in hand. The pig’s blood wasn’t too fresh and it already started reeking some awful, but he didn’t want to mess this up.

Mr. Joseph saw his hesitation and gestured silently for him to give the bucket over. He did and the man poured a bit over the face probably in the hopes of making the beating more realistic. It was hard to see in the dark, with only the light of the waning moon. Mr. Joseph also poured some over the chest, covering up the bullet wound, then pushed the bucket back into Jack’s hand, vaguely gesturing over the body.

Jack took the hint and stepped closer, dousing the rest of the dress liberally with what was left in the bucket. He felt some of it splatter onto his shoe. It was impossible to make out colours in the dark, but he saw the blood glisten and slowly drip down before soaking into the fabric of the gown, darkening it even further and he suddenly felt sick. He stepped behind another bush and vomited.

It wasn’t the blood what caused it. It was the knowledge that if Mr. Joseph told him to, he would have beaten the man up whether he was dead or alive. He would have done anything for Mr. Joseph. He already knew he would go to the ends of the world for him. He was more than willing to die for him. Now he realized, he would kill for him as well.

It was a terrifying thought to belong to someone so utterly, and he wondered whether Mr. Joseph had any idea of the depth of his loyalty for him. Surely, he did by now, even if he couldn’t discern the underlying desire.

He stepped back out from behind the bush and found Mr. Joseph waiting for him. He could hardly make out his eyes, but there was no impatience or annoyance in his gaze if anything he looked tired. Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“Sorry, sir…” he mumbled.

“No matter, come, let’s get out of here,” Mr. Joseph said and clamped a hand on his forearm as if not to lose him in the dark. As if Jack was too valuable to accidentally lose like a coat button. It reminded Jack that no matter the circumstances, Mr. Joseph had always been good to him.

He needn’t worry. He might never be more than a loyal servant to him, but he could settle with that. Even if he can’t give him his body, this surrender of complete loyalty might be sweet enough.

He hastened his steps to open the carriage door for his master, closed it behind him, then flung himself up onto the perch and drove them away safely under the cloak of night.


End file.
